


The Kilt

by sous_le_saule



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley has a kilt kink, Established Relationship, M/M, Smut, kilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 23:00:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sous_le_saule/pseuds/sous_le_saule
Summary: Sometimes Crowley loves tartan.





	The Kilt

**Author's Note:**

> Blame the insomnia.
> 
> Many thanks to my betareader, Wildirishrose, who kindly offered me to check my English and gave me very useful explanations!

Really, the upstairs room was cosy now. Books had been shelved, stacks disappearing to make enough room for a large bed, which had become indispensable. The old sofa in the backroom was too uncomfortable for them both to take a nap. Not to mention having sex. Actually they used the new bed so often that Aziraphale had freed up some space in his wardrobe for Crowley, who had brought some clothes from his flat and was currently organising them with his usual fussiness.

He let out a little sound of surprise. “I can’t believe you still have it!”

“What?”

Crowley took out from the wardrobe a hanger with a green and blue kilt.

“Oh, that old thing? Such a shame nobody wears kilts anymore. I loved it. As I recall, I wore that one in…”

“Culloden. 1745.”

“How do you remember that?” exclaimed Aziraphale.

Crowley blushed. “Er… I thought a lot about it, after the battle.”

“You…? Oh, my!”

The demon grew redder. “Heh.” He scratched the back of his neck. “You were very hot in this, with your claymore.”

In 1745? Aziraphale would have never thought Crowley was already…

“Do you mind… erm… wearing it again?” asked the demon in a small voice.

“Now?”

Crowley looked deeply embarrassed. “Please.”

Aziraphale smiled fondly. He was unable to resist the demon when he was making that face. He took the hanger out of his hand.

“And, angel… did you keep the sword, by chance?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t, dear.”

“Too bad.”

“Mmh. Er… do you want me to leave my shirt on?”

“No. Just the kilt. I mean… you know… with nothing und-”

“I _know_ what you mean,” assured Aziraphale with a smirk, getting out of the room. “I’ll be right back.”

 

In the tiny bathroom, he had a bit of trouble fastening the kilt. It had been a long time. And the idea of the demon touching himself while thinking about him after the battle was a very distracting thought.

When he finally came back in the bedroom, Crowley was sitting naked on the bed. Like every time, Aziraphale couldn’t help gazing upon him. He was gorgeous. Some could have argued he was too skinny and not muscular enough but, in the angel’s opinion, he was _perfect_.

He noticed the pile of obviously hastily removed clothes on the floor and smiled. “Impatient, were you?” Crowley kept staring at him without a word. “Well?”

“Turn round, will you?”

The angel complied, feeling somewhat ridiculous. But when he faced the demon again, he could tell he was utterly delighted, judging by his transfixed look. And his throbbing cock.

Aziraphale wondered if one day he would cease to marvel at this. As a principality, he could perform rather impressive miracles, but none of his powers seemed to him as amazing as being able to make Crowley hard.

“Come here,” the demon invited, his voice a little husky.  Aziraphale stepped forward to stand between his spread legs and kissed him. Crowley put his hands on the angel’s hips. “The mere thought that I just have to slide my hand under this piece of cloth to reach your cock is thrilling.”

“Is that the reason you fought so badly in Culloden?” teased the angel.

Crowley rewarded him with a dismissive grunt. He trailed open-mouthed kisses on his nipples and soft belly, his hands sneaking under the tartan fabric to stroke his thighs and his ample arse, neglecting at first his main target.

“Have I ever told you how much I love this body of yours?” he asked between two kisses.

“Almost as many times as you've demonstrated it,” said Aziraphale, over the moon, running a hand through Crowley’s dark hair.

The demon glanced eagerly at the bulge that had grown in the front of the kilt. One of his hands left Aziraphale’s bottom to grasp his hardness. With an appreciative growl, Crowley started stroking slowly, teasing. Aziraphale moaned and slightly leaned forward to return the favour. He had to stop when Crowley lifted the kilt and bent over, his head disappearing under the fabric.

 _Oh, God!_ He was too good at it. It was only a pity that Aziraphale couldn’t see it and stroke the demon’s hair like he usually did during this. He felt his knees go weak and clung to Crowley’s shoulders. Was he going to finish him off this way?

“Crowley!” he warned. Or begged. He wasn’t sure.

The demon straightened and licked his lips, his pupils dilated. “Not so soon, angel. I want you. On all fours.”

“Do I… do I keep the kilt on?” asked Aziraphale, settling on the bed.

“That’s the point, honey,” explained Crowley behind him.

Aziraphale could hear the smile in his voice, then the sound of him rummaging in the drawer of the nightstand to grab the tube of lubricant.

Crowley rucked up the kilt on Aziraphale’s lower back, brushing his buttocks, before rubbing his erection between them. He slid inside him in one quite rough movement. Aziraphale gasped in surprise. Crowley instantly froze.

“Oh, love, I’m sorry! I got carried away,” he stuttered. “Did I hurt y-“

“Don’t stop!”

When Crowley was topping, he was always very sweet and careful. Maybe a bit too much, to be honest. As if he thought Aziraphale was a fragile thing that had to be handled with care. Or maybe he believed that an angel would only like tender love-making. Not that it wasn’t good, of course. But this seemed the right time to prove him wrong.

The demon hesitated then enthusiastically obeyed, firmly grabbing the angel’s hips. Aziraphale frantically pushed backward to meet his thrusts.

“God, Crowley, yes! Right there.” _Oh, this was…_ “Harder! Ah… please… harder!”

“Angel,” moaned Crowley, with a hint of astonishment in his voice.

The sound of their flesh slapping together increased and quickened. This was _wonderful_. Panting, Aziraphale clutched at the sheets, knuckles white. His last coherent thought was to thank that blessed kilt.

With each thrust, Crowley gave a low grunt as he filled Aziraphale entirely, pushing him closer toward the edge. The demon leaned forward and half kissed, half bit his shoulder, trying to stifle a long whimper. “I won’t last long, angel. You’re too…” He gasped and couldn’t finish his sentence.

He groped for Aziraphale’s cock and stroked it, his rhythm becoming erratic. Aziraphale closed his eyes tight as he came hard, clenching around Crowley who was clearly just waiting for that to climax.

Fortunately, in Soho, the neighbours weren’t the type to complain about a too-loud orgasm.

 

They stayed still for a while, breathing heavily and trembling, Crowley lazily kissing Aziraphale’s back with blissful tenderness. He finally eased out slowly, as if reluctantly. The angel took off his kilt before letting himself fall on the mattress with a pleased sigh.  

“Goodness! That was…” He put his hand to his forehead.

Crowley snuggled against him, a rapturous grin across his face. “Yes.”

“To think that this could have happened in the middle of the Culloden battle!”

The demon chuckled. Aziraphale smiled, dreamily running his fingers through Crowley’s hair, happy to feel his warmth and his breath against his skin. 

“My dear, I was wondering…” he suddenly said, “do you still have your old black leather armour?”


End file.
